


Well Enough Alone

by MoldySin (AnnieAnnProps)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Ghosty, I live, Writing Prompt, hi kids, it's all quite predictable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-17 10:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieAnnProps/pseuds/MoldySin
Summary: You are cleaning out the attic of your home when you find a dusty, old, leatherbound diary.  The date inside is from 150 years ago. You start to read, and the author writes about strange things that happened in the house; items moving mysteriously, strange sounds, etc. The final entries describe seeing a ghost, in great detail, hair color, eye color, clothes. The description of the ghost matches you exactly.





	Well Enough Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I'm sitting backstage, running a show that is mostly downtime so I've been writing to pass the time. Send help.

Lena can't believe that she's never been up to the old attic in the years that they've live here. The metal ladder shudders with every step, an old alloy of aluminum that seems to be popular enough back in the day that nearly very thing that needed to be metal was made of it. Dust assaults her nose the higher and higher she climbs until she finally pops her head past the threshold of the ceiling.

“How's it look up there, sweety?” Emily calls from the foot of the ladder, her hand gripping the sides to steady the creaky thing.

“It's a pisshole, it is. See why they never went up here.”

It was just more work, that's what. But with their wedding coming up and neither of her parents alive to tell her about any heirlooms; Lena felt like it was a sort of her duty to look through the three generations of junk stowed away in the family house's attic.

The sunlight filtering through the vent to the outside was just bright enough for Lena to be able to make out the outlines of crap stacked tall enough to touch the peaked roof. It smelled like rotting wood and water damage, no doubt most of this stuff would be unsalvageable.

With a few more steps, she hoists herself up onto the floor that somehow complains more than the ladder. No wonder the house creaks so much at night .

“Bloody hell, who knows how long this rubbish’s been sitting here for. Mum said her nan used to live here and her mum before that…” Lena says down to Emily with one hand on her hip and the other one holding up a flashlight. She scans the room once more. Her stomach clenches at the sight of the brown stains creeping down from the tops of the stacks from times when the house used to have unkempt wooden shingles.

“Wow, you weren't kidding.” Emily says in quiet awe when she makes it up the ladder and stands up next to Lena. "You take left and I'll take right?"

The share a peck on the lips before parting and beginning to sift through the dust covered piles. It isn't even a minute in before Emily sneezes a whole 5 times in a row, cursing about how foolish and stubborn she was for thinking she didn't need a dust mask. With another cough, Emily excuses herself to grab masks and a bottle of water for them.

  
Now alone, the odd noises Lena hears strums her nerves; groaning wood to the rythym of footsteps when she knows Emily is on the other side of the house in the garage. Her eyes dart from stack to stack, expecting a shadow or some reaper to leap out and scare her to death. But it's just the floorboards settling in after taking weight for the first time in years she tells herself. The room feels larger, something more than dust chokes her throat. With another pass over, her flashlight catches something silver from all the way across the room reflecting the light bright enough to etch white spots in her vision

Climbing over boxes, old tech, and nearly pissing her pants when she sees her reflection in a grimy mirror, Lena makes it to the back corner of the attic that's impeccably tidy compared to the rest of the place. Only a couple of metal trunks and an intricately carved, green dresser that looks larger than the hole in the ceiling they entered through is all that sits in the corner.

  
And all of it covered with only a thin layer of dust. Perhaps it were her mums stuff, she did like collecting trinkets from the places she flew to. But it wouldn't make sense that she'd lay claim to the back corner of the room. Imagine having to climb over all that junk to add a charm to her collection.

  
Lena tugs on the knob of the top dresser drawer, half expecting it to be locked. Instead it slides open with little complaint; well greased and well worn. It in are figurines of all types from animals to buildings that are no longer standing along with teaspoons stolen from various teahouses, a few of which Lena recognizes.

  
A sharp gasp rips out of her throat, a throng of pain tears through Lena's chest. It quickly dulls to an ache deep in her lungs. Visions flash before her eyes, snippets of familiar dreams where she'd be battling robots or friends with a giant gorilla. She always blamed the wild dreams on the stress of sleeping in hotel rooms hundreds of miles away from home and Emily.

  
The next drawer is a wad of fabric, light blue and lace, a wedding gown perhaps but such an odd place to store it. Lena makes a note of it, maybe it'll fit her or emily.

  
The third is full of cases and cases of insect specimens, some familiar some never she'd seen the likes of before.

  
Lena holds up a case of butterflies to her light, wiping off some of the dirt and revealing the brilliant colours of the 3 butterflies varying in shades of blue. She remembers a time when she was in grade school, chasing after bugs and collecting them in jars until her mum would make her release them. 'seeing them alive in nature should make you happier than seeing them dead in glass’ she would always tell her. Didn't stop her though and Lena's mum relented when she began collecting dead insects off the ground before the ants could claim their prizes.

  
Lena sets the case of butterflies aside with the perfect spot in the kitchen in mind to display it.

  
The last drawer takes a few yanks to force open, heavy with dozens of books bound in cracked leather. Each having an ascending number stamped on the cover.  
Could it be?

  
With flashlight in her mouth and gentle fingers, Lena fishes out ‘1’ and peels back the cover, the first few pages remain plastered to the leather. Despite her efforts, the paper crumbles between her fingertips, the words illegible due to the mold.

  
“Find something neat?”

  
The plastic casing of the flashlight cracks between her teeth, the book shoved into her chest out of instinct and she feels her fingers crush the fragile pages to dust.

  
“Bloody hell, Em. You damn nearly made me piss my pants.” Lena shouts with a pout.  
Emily chuckles behind her dust mask, handing one to Lena who opens her clenched hands. The remains of the book are little more than crumbs and flakes of parchment that scatter around her like confetti.

  
“Sorry about that sweety, you didn't hear me come up the ladder? The old thing is so loud it might as well be singing the Russian national anthem” Emily says jokingly, helping Lena get the elastic of the mask over her mass of unruly hair.

  
Lena hums and offers a shrug, wouldn't be the first time she was she focused that she was practically dead to the world.

  
“They never told me about the stuff up here. Reckon we'd find my dad's dirty magazines or shite like that. But it looks like none of them could get rid my greats nans stuff either.” Lena says as she gestures to the tidy corner. She goes back to the drawer of books, trying her luck on a newer edition ‘15’ and hoping this one isn't as old as the first.

  
“This stuff sure looks old enough to be your great grandma's.” Emily says after opening a metal trunk full of faded child toys.

  
“Yeah? Think it's her diaries. Mum said her name was Katherine, see, on the cover here.” Lena says pointing to the name inscribed on the inside of the cover. Grateful the book didn't disintegrate at the slightest touch, Lena flips through the pages of neat calligraphy and finds a dog eared page to read.

  
_"Father says that Gertrude keeps digging up the planters but I know it's not her. She’s not very fond of how onions smell. Then he reckons me or Thomas are destroying the garden when he's away at the mill but it's not us…”_

  
Lena quickly loses interest with the page, eyes scanning over the lines of “Katherine’s’” mundane childhood filled with bike rides, fishing, and catching insects. One in a while there's a reference to the creaking floorboards and glowing shadows; items going missing, tally marks appearing on the walls, candy wrappers.

Just how old is this house?

  
A few sketches dot the pages now and again. Lena smiles at the decently drawn beagle Gertrude; although smudged, the drawing perfectly captures the grumpiness in the dogs eyes.

  
And then she stops, the book stills in Lena's hands, her entire body goes rigid. Even behind the mask warmed by her own breath, the air suddenly feels frigid, burning her throat with every breath.

  
“Lena...that…” Emily's drifts off, her presence disappearing from beside Lena.

Everything blurs out of focus except for the full page drawing that's staring back at her.  
It wasn't quite a sketch, more of a messy pencil silhouette smudged and the paper thin in some places as if Katherine had to erase and redraw it over and over again just to get it right. A mop of unruly hair and a glowing, blue orb in the middle of the drawings chest.

  
At the foot of the figure, scrawled in a different hand, a name: “Lena”  
She shuts the book with a puff of dust erupting from the pages. The attic is eerily silent for a moment.

  
“Lena, that was you.” Emily says, her hands pawing for Lena to reopen the diary. “That was you, how?!”

  
“No, can't be. We're nutters is all. Maybe it's just...” Lena says quietly as she hands the book to Emily who nearly tears the cover off opening it back up.

  
They both stare at the drawing for what seems like eternity and it starts back with it's glowing blue eyes. Dark lines mark the crude outline of a old style bomber jacket, skin tight leggings, and a pair of goggles stretched over her eyes. The more they look at it, the more the fear fades away. Other than the hair, there's no features that could be identified with Lena anyways.

  
“It can't be me. Mum must've named me after an old family friend?” says Lena, snatching the book back and pouring over the words, searching for context.

  
_"The oddest thing, I couldn't believe my own eyes. As I've outlined since age 10, and I am now 16, odd things kept happening around house. My clothes would go missing, Gertude would seem to follow someone around, carrots dug up from the garden and left chopped sitting on the counter. A ghost, mother says, been saying for years about the house being built on an old research center where experiments went awry. Father wouldn't have none of that. Beat me, Thomas, the dog, anyone he could nail the blame on."_

  
Terror battled with her reasoning as Lena read the words aloud for the both of them. A soft hand gently cupped Lena's hand. This time urging her to ease the book closed. Both their hearts pound a wild rhythm in their chests the masks suffocating her lungs.

  
“Let's give it a rest, sweety. It's already noon and we've been up here all morning.” Emily says softly and places a kiss on Lena's cheek. When she doesn't respond, Emily turns her face with a hand on her chin forcing Lena to tear her eyes away from the closed diary. “Lena, come back to me.”

  
The heart in Lena chest clenches with guilt, knowing that she's starting to peel away again, disappearing into her own world. She doesn't means to, never means to.

  
“I'm sorry, love. Just spacing is all.” Lena apologies, finally returning Emily's kisses. Her hands feel like fire against Lena's cold cheeks.

  
They forget about the diary for an hour or two, distractions were always their specialty. An empty cream carton has them walking to the grocer down the street for a new carton for their berries and cream; an eternal struggle of running out of only one of the ingredients but never both of them at the same time.

  
Before long, the two of them are stuck in their ugly, overstuffed leather couch. Emily slips into an afternoon nap snuggled up again Lena's shoulder. Their telly drowns on with a mindless sitcom that is able to hold Lena's attention for a moment before it begins to drift. She's on the doopstep of sleep when her hand drops down from the edge of the couch and grazes dry leather. Her eyes snap open and her heart slingshots back into her chest.

  
Jerked awake and now slightly peeved, Lena looks down at the offending book that now calls to her; promising her answers for the questions swirling in her head. Her will was never known to be strong when holding her back from doing something. The soft leather cover feels familiar in her hands, like a well worn jacket.

  
_"Thomas wasn't home, away on a boyscout trip. Mother and father at the factories like always so I went out catching butterflies._  
 _It was a bright light, first I thought it to be a camera or a mirror catching the sunlight but it was blue. Right in the middle of the garden, hovering there before blinking(?) To the yard door. Then into the house but her light started to dim, or maybe my eyes got used to looking at her._

  
_Her_

_Knew it was a her, could just feel it._   
_I asked her to speak, who she was even though I was shaking in my boots. A real ghost, standing right there. But she didn't even look at me, I wonder if she knew that I was there, or where she was or anything._   
_I could make out what she was wearing. Thought to find father's camera but I was scared she'd be gone the second I looked away. The most curious part was her light, her spirit that was in her chest. People always talk about how ghosts look like dark shadows or wisps of smoke in a dim room. But she glowed, beautiful, like a beacon: a real person."_

  
The next page hadpost-it notes tucked into the pages, their adhesives gone with the years.

  
_"That's new! I don't believe it! I don't. I was looking through my diaries for Maggie’s school assignment and I swear that I didn't write “Lena” underneath that drawing. That's not even my handwriting which would imply that this ghost can write? I don't know what this means, maybe Maggie found these diaries and fooled around in them."_

  
_____  
_Are you there?_

  
_Lena?_

  
_Is that your name?_

  
_Where are you?_

  
_How did you die?_

  
_Please talk be me, I just want to learn more about you._

  
_Lena?_

  
_How are you, Lena?_

  
There are blank spaces between the the lines and lines of questions Lena finds at the end of the diary. She and Emily are in bed now; Emily made her promise to leave the books well enough alone as they continued to clean out the attic for the rest of the day. But Emily is sound asleep now and Lena can't stop reading the entries. As she nears the end of '1', the entries about “Lena" started to thin out until the last couple of pages.

  
A page full of butterfly sketches with the page dogeared and a Post-It note saying “NOT MINE” written in large letters. And the pages of questions that followed in suit.

  
None of them answered.

  
Lena's hand twitches for the pencil on the nightstand.

  
She closes the diary, leaving the questions unanswered, and slips beneath the sheet.

  
____

  
_“Are you there Lena”_

  
Yes

  
_“Lena?”_

  
An old country house with rolling grass and a distant forest.

  
_“Is that your name?”_

  
Sure is! T-Racer reporting for duty!

  
_Where are you?_

  
A cellar with pickled beets, carrots being sliced for tonight stew. A stool because she's too short for the counter, an apron too big for her small frame. A shadow in the doorway

  
_“How did you die?”_

  
A plane over the ocean, her chronal accelerator installed into the mainframe. A “dragon fly” just like the one her mother taught her how to fly in. She's trying to get things right.

  
_“Please talk be me, I just want to learn more about you.”_

  
A barrier between them, see the lips moving without any words reaching her ears. The names Winston, Angela, Lucio pass her mind but they hold no meaning; they bring no faces to mind.

  
_“Lena?”_

  
An ocean filled with the wreckages of planes and bodies dressed in the same orange leggings and brown bomber jackets.

  
This time, she'll get it right.

  
____

  
The next morning, Emily cradles her in her arms, whispering words of comfort. That it was just a nightmare, Lena is here, she is real, that they are real. They are getting married in the the backyard of Lena's family home, their friends and family will be there, they'll adopt a cat and a dog. They'll live a happy life.

  
She is not a ghost

  
She is Lena Oxton

  
She is a simple airline pilot for a small company

  
Not a hero of the world, just a person getting by.

  
She should've left well enough alone.  
But a month later, while Emily is out and Lena tasks herself with tidying up the bedroom and she finds the forgotten diary kicked beneath the bed. She has time to kill and flips through it just to humour herself.  
There's a page inserted at the end of the book that wasn't there before. Katherine's handwriting, fresh without the smudges and the paper still white and crisp.

  
_"I know you're reading this Lena, my granddaughter. It's good to know Maggie didn't get herself killed flying those aeroplanes. How this is possible? I guess that I shouldn't question it._

  
_What have you gotten yourself into, jumping around like this? Are you a ghost, am I the one who is the ghost? Is it this house that is us all together. Maybe it should be burned down. Cursed land as mother would call it._

  
_Live your life, Lena, live it to the fullest._

  
_Find what makes you happy and let it be the death of you_

  
_Please don't try too hard_

  
_There's no real way to 'get things right’."_

  
_Lena returns the diary to the dresser, only slightly tempted to peek into the journal labeled '2'. This time, she is able to tear herself away._

She stands at the window in the kitchen overlooking the garden where the butterflies stare at her from the corner if her eye. Not rolling grass but wooden fences with buildings peeking over, skyscrapers in the distance. A cellar where they plan to renovate into a workspace for Emily’s draftings.

  
She is real

  
She is alive

  
She is here

  
The house creaks in agreement


End file.
